The Light House

I dared to climb
this Baldhead light
with stones and only stairs.

The rickety stairs,
the rackety sounds,
was I brave enough to dare.

Her open belly empty
from years gone by,
smelled dampen, musky old.

The ripened stilted wood stairs
went on forever,
dirt and mossy mold

One height, two
the stairs went on
ceaseless they seemed to grow

Two height, three
the rickety sounds,
the top, where did it go

Four height, five
reaching into the sky
I could only see more ahead

Six height, seven,
light has appeared
given way from the feeling of dread

Finally when all seemed
hopelessly high,
the light reached atop.

Globe, the bulb
the watchful eye,
we had summit the final stop

The island was seen
from miles around,
with sea in each direction.

From fields and houses
beaches and mounds,
the island of varied sections.

We left the Baldhead Island
that day, sensing the past
and the sights

But, the beauty one
could not see, were times gone
of channel lights

Sailors and seamen
who knew when she signal
they were home and soon a shore

The welcoming of
the Baldhead Light
given safety; we ask no more.

Christine McNeill
© Summer 2004